Antony and Cleopatra, Act 3, Scene 13

What shall we do, Enobarbus?

What are we going to do, Enobarbus?

Think, and die.

Think it over, and die.

Is Antony or we in fault for this?

Is Antony to blame for this, or are we?

Antony only, that would make his will Lord of his reason. What though you fled From that great face of war, whose several ranges Frighted each other? Why should he follow? The itch of his affection should not then Have nicked his captainship, at such a point, When half to half the world opposed, he being The mered question. ’Twas a shame no less Than was his loss, to course your flying flags And leave his navy gazing.

Antony alone, for letting his desire rule his reason. What does it matter that you fled from that huge battlefront, where the separate lines of ships terrified each other? Why should he follow you? The itch of his passion should not, at such a moment, have cut short his generalship, when half the world stood against the other half, and he himself was the sole issue at stake. It was no less a disgrace than his defeat to chase after your fleeing flags and leave his own fleet staring.

Prithee, peace.

Please, be quiet.

Is that his answer?

Is that his answer?

Ay, my lord.

Yes, my lord.

The Queen shall then have courtesy, so she Will yield us up.

So the Queen will be treated kindly, provided she hands me over.

He says so.

That is what he says.

Let her know’t.— To the boy Caesar send this grizzled head, And he will fill thy wishes to the brim With principalities.

Let her know it. Send this grey head to the boy Caesar, and he will fill your wishes to the brim with princedoms.

That head, my lord?

That head, my lord?

To him again. Tell him he wears the rose Of youth upon him, from which the world should note Something particular: his coin, ships, legions, May be a coward’s; whose ministers would prevail Under the service of a child as soon As i’ th’ command of Caesar. I dare him therefore To lay his gay comparisons apart, And answer me declined, sword against sword, Ourselves alone. I’ll write it. Follow me.

Go back to him. Tell him he wears the bloom of youth, and the world expects something remarkable from him because of it: his money, his ships, his legions could belong to a coward, whose officers would win just as easily serving a child as under Caesar's command. So I challenge him to set aside his showy advantages and meet me, fallen as I am, sword against sword, just the two of us. I'll write it down. Follow me.

Yes, like enough high-battled Caesar will Unstate his happiness, and be staged to th’ show Against a sworder! I see men’s judgments are A parcel of their fortunes, and things outward Do draw the inward quality after them To suffer all alike. That he should dream, Knowing all measures, the full Caesar will Answer his emptiness! Caesar, thou hast subdued His judgment too.

Oh yes, it's very likely that Caesar, with his mighty armies, will lay aside his good fortune and put himself on display in a show against a hired fencer! I see that men's judgment is part of their luck, and outward circumstances drag their inner qualities down with them, so that everything decays together. That he could imagine, when he knows the proportions of things, that Caesar in all his fullness will answer his emptiness! Caesar, you have defeated his judgment as well.

A messenger from Caesar.

A messenger from Caesar.

What, no more ceremony? See, my women, Against the blown rose may they stop their nose That kneeled unto the buds. Admit him, sir.

What, no more ceremony than that? Look, my women: those who knelt to the buds may hold their noses at the full-blown rose. Show him in, sir.

[Aside.] Mine honesty and I begin to square. The loyalty well held to fools does make Our faith mere folly. Yet he that can endure To follow with allegiance a fallen lord Does conquer him that did his master conquer, And earns a place i’ th’ story.

[Aside.] My honesty and I are starting to quarrel. Loyalty faithfully kept to fools makes our faithfulness pure foolishness. Yet the man who can bear to keep following a fallen master with full allegiance defeats the one who defeated his master, and wins a place in history.

Caesar’s will?

What does Caesar want?

Hear it apart.

Hear it in private.

None but friends. Say boldly.

There are none here but friends. Speak freely.

So haply are they friends to Antony.

Perhaps they are friends to Antony too.

He needs as many, sir, as Caesar has, Or needs not us. If Caesar please, our master Will leap to be his friend. For us, you know Whose he is we are, and that is Caesar’s.

He needs as many friends as Caesar has, sir, or he has no need of us. If Caesar is willing, our master will jump at the chance to be his friend. As for us, you know that we belong to whoever he belongs to, and that is Caesar.

So.— Thus then, thou most renowned: Caesar entreats Not to consider in what case thou stand’st Further than he is Caesar.

Good. Then here it is, most famous lady: Caesar asks you to think about your situation no further than this, that he is Caesar.

Go on; right royal.

Go on; truly royal.

He knows that you embrace not Antony As you did love, but as you feared him.

He knows that you cling to Antony not out of love, but out of fear of him.

O!

Oh!

The scars upon your honour, therefore, he Does pity as constrained blemishes, Not as deserved.

So he pities the scars on your honour as marks forced on you, not as ones you deserved.

He is a god and knows What is most right. Mine honour was not yielded, But conquered merely.

He is a god, and knows what is most true. My honour was not surrendered; it was simply conquered.

[Aside.] To be sure of that, I will ask Antony. Sir, sir, thou art so leaky That we must leave thee to thy sinking, for Thy dearest quit thee.

[Aside.] To be certain of that, I'll ask Antony. Sir, sir, you leak so badly that we must leave you to sink, since those dearest to you are abandoning you.

Shall I say to Caesar What you require of him? For he partly begs To be desired to give. It much would please him That of his fortunes you should make a staff To lean upon. But it would warm his spirits To hear from me you had left Antony, And put yourself under his shroud, The universal landlord.

Shall I tell Caesar what you ask of him? For he half begs to be asked to give. It would please him greatly if you would make his good fortune a staff to lean on. But it would warm his heart to hear from me that you had left Antony and put yourself under his protection, the landlord of the whole world.

What’s your name?

What is your name?

My name is Thidias.

My name is Thidias.

Most kind messenger, Say to great Caesar this in deputation: I kiss his conqu’ring hand. Tell him I am prompt To lay my crown at’s feet, and there to kneel. Tell him, from his all-obeying breath I hear The doom of Egypt.

Kindest of messengers, say this to great Caesar as my representative: I kiss his conquering hand. Tell him I am ready to lay my crown at his feet and kneel there. Tell him that from his all-commanding voice I await the sentence of Egypt.

’Tis your noblest course. Wisdom and fortune combating together, If that the former dare but what it can, No chance may shake it. Give me grace to lay My duty on your hand.

That is your noblest course. When wisdom and fortune fight each other, if wisdom risks only what it can actually do, no accident can shake it. Allow me the honour of laying my respects on your hand.

Your Caesar’s father oft, When he hath mused of taking kingdoms in, Bestowed his lips on that unworthy place As it rained kisses.

Your Caesar's father often, when he had been considering the conquest of kingdoms, put his lips on that unworthy spot as if kisses were raining down.

Favours, by Jove that thunders! What art thou, fellow?

Granting favours, by Jove the thunderer! Who are you, fellow?

One that but performs The bidding of the fullest man and worthiest To have command obeyed.

Someone who merely carries out the orders of the most complete man alive, and the one most worthy to have his commands obeyed.

[Aside.] You will be whipped.

[Aside.] You're going to be whipped.

Approach there.—Ah, you kite!—Now, gods and devils, Authority melts from me. Of late when I cried “Ho!” Like boys unto a muss, kings would start forth And cry “Your will?” Have you no ears? I am Antony yet.

Come here, someone! — Ah, you bird of prey! — Now, gods and devils, my authority is draining away. Not long ago, when I shouted "Hey!", kings would come running like boys scrambling for scattered coins and cry "What do you want?" Have you no ears? I am still Antony.

Take hence this jack and whip him.

Take this low fellow away and whip him.

’Tis better playing with a lion’s whelp Than with an old one dying.

It's safer to play with a lion's cub than with an old lion that's dying.

Moon and stars! Whip him. Were’t twenty of the greatest tributaries That do acknowledge Caesar, should I find them So saucy with the hand of she here—what’s her name Since she was Cleopatra? Whip him, fellows, Till like a boy you see him cringe his face And whine aloud for mercy. Take him hence.

By the moon and stars! Whip him. If they were twenty of the greatest princes who pay tribute to Caesar, and I found them being so insolent with the hand of this woman here — what is her name, now that she is no longer Cleopatra? Whip him, men, until you see him screw up his face like a boy and howl aloud for mercy. Take him away.

Mark Antony—

Mark Antony—

Tug him away. Being whipp’d, Bring him again. This jack of Caesar’s shall Bear us an errand to him.

Drag him off. Once he has been whipped, bring him back. This underling of Caesar's shall carry a message from us to him.

You were half blasted ere I knew you. Ha! Have I my pillow left unpressed in Rome, Forborne the getting of a lawful race, And by a gem of women, to be abused By one that looks on feeders?

You were already half withered before I met you. Ha! Have I left my pillow in Rome untouched, given up fathering legitimate children, and by a jewel of a woman, only to be betrayed by one who makes eyes at servants?

Good my lord—

My good lord—

You have been a boggler ever. But when we in our viciousness grow hard— O misery on’t!—the wise gods seal our eyes, In our own filth drop our clear judgments, make us Adore our errors, laugh at’s while we strut To our confusion.

You have always been a shifty one. But when we grow hardened in our own corruption — oh, the misery of it! — the wise gods seal our eyes, drop our clear judgment into our own filth, make us worship our mistakes, and laugh at us while we strut towards our ruin.

O, is’t come to this?

Oh, has it come to this?

I found you as a morsel cold upon Dead Caesar’s trencher; nay, you were a fragment Of Gneius Pompey’s, besides what hotter hours, Unregistered in vulgar fame, you have Luxuriously pick’d out. For I am sure, Though you can guess what temperance should be, You know not what it is.

I found you like a cold scrap left on dead Caesar's plate; no, you were a leftover of Gneius Pompey's, besides all the hotter hours you have greedily picked out for yourself that common gossip never recorded. For I am certain that, although you can guess what self-control ought to be, you have no idea what it actually is.

Wherefore is this?

Why are you saying this?

To let a fellow that will take rewards And say “God quit you!” be familiar with My playfellow, your hand, this kingly seal And plighter of high hearts! O that I were Upon the hill of Basan, to outroar The horned herd! For I have savage cause, And to proclaim it civilly were like A haltered neck which does the hangman thank For being yare about him.

To let some fellow who accepts tips and says "God repay you!" take liberties with my playmate, your hand, this royal seal and maker of solemn promises between great hearts! Oh, if only I were on the hill of Basan, to out-bellow the herd of horned cattle! For I have brutal reason to roar, and to state it politely would be like a man with the rope round his neck thanking the hangman for being quick about his work.

Is he whipped?

Has he been whipped?

Soundly, my lord.

Thoroughly, my lord.

Cried he? And begged he pardon?

Did he cry? And did he beg for pardon?

He did ask favour.

He did ask for mercy.

If that thy father live, let him repent Thou wast not made his daughter; and be thou sorry To follow Caesar in his triumph, since Thou hast been whipped for following him. Henceforth The white hand of a lady fever thee; Shake thou to look on’t. Get thee back to Caesar; Tell him thy entertainment. Look thou say He makes me angry with him; for he seems Proud and disdainful, harping on what I am, Not what he knew I was. He makes me angry, And at this time most easy ’tis to do’t, When my good stars that were my former guides Have empty left their orbs and shot their fires Into th’ abysm of hell. If he mislike My speech and what is done, tell him he has Hipparchus, my enfranched bondman, whom He may at pleasure whip, or hang, or torture, As he shall like, to quit me. Urge it thou. Hence with thy stripes, be gone.

If your father is still alive, let him be sorry you weren't born his daughter; and you be sorry that you are following Caesar in his triumph, since you have been whipped for following him. From now on, may a lady's white hand give you a fever; may you tremble at the sight of it. Get back to Caesar; tell him how you were received. Be sure you say that he makes me angry with him, because he seems proud and scornful, going on about what I am now instead of what he knew I used to be. He makes me angry, and it's very easy to do that just now, when the lucky stars that used to guide me have left their spheres empty and shot their fires down into the pit of hell. If he dislikes what I say and what has been done, tell him he has Hipparchus, my freed slave, whom he can whip or hang or torture as he pleases, to get even with me. Press that point. Off you go with your lashes, get out.

Have you done yet?

Have you finished yet?

Alack, our terrene moon is now eclipsed, And it portends alone the fall of Antony.

Alas, our earthly moon is eclipsed now, and that signifies nothing but the fall of Antony.

I must stay his time.

I must wait until his mood passes.

To flatter Caesar, would you mingle eyes With one that ties his points?

To flatter Caesar, would you exchange loving looks with a man who laces up his shoes?

Not know me yet?

Do you still not know me?

Cold-hearted toward me?

Cold-hearted toward me?

Ah, dear, if I be so, From my cold heart let heaven engender hail And poison it in the source, and the first stone Drop in my neck; as it determines, so Dissolve my life! The next Caesarion smite, Till, by degrees the memory of my womb, Together with my brave Egyptians all, By the discandying of this pelleted storm, Lie graveless, till the flies and gnats of Nile Have buried them for prey!

Ah, my dear, if I am, then let heaven breed hail out of my cold heart and poison it at its source, and let the first stone fall on my neck; as it melts away, so let my life dissolve! Let the next one strike Caesarion, until, one by one, all the children of my womb, along with all my splendid Egyptians, melted by this hailstorm's pellets, lie without graves, until the flies and gnats of the Nile have buried them by eating them!

I am satisfied. Caesar sits down in Alexandria, where I will oppose his fate. Our force by land Hath nobly held; our severed navy too Have knit again, and fleet, threat’ning most sea-like. Where hast thou been, my heart? Dost thou hear, lady? If from the field I shall return once more To kiss these lips, I will appear in blood. I and my sword will earn our chronicle. There’s hope in’t yet.

I am satisfied. Caesar is laying siege to Alexandria, and there I will stand against his destiny. Our land forces have held out nobly; our scattered fleet has joined up again as well, and floats together, looking as threatening as any fleet at sea. Where have you been, my heart? Do you hear me, my lady? If I come back from the battlefield once more to kiss these lips, I will come covered in blood. My sword and I will win ourselves a place in history. There is still hope in it.

That’s my brave lord!

That's my splendid lord!

I will be treble-sinewed, hearted, breathed, And fight maliciously. For when mine hours Were nice and lucky, men did ransom lives Of me for jests. But now I’ll set my teeth And send to darkness all that stop me. Come, Let’s have one other gaudy night. Call to me All my sad captains. Fill our bowls once more Let’s mock the midnight bell.

I will have three times the muscle, three times the courage, three times the breath, and I will fight savagely. For when my times were easy and fortunate, men could buy their lives from me with a joke. But now I'll clench my teeth and send everyone who blocks my way into the dark. Come, let's have one more brilliant night of feasting. Summon all my serious captains to me. Fill our cups once more — let's laugh at the midnight bell.

It is my birthday. I had thought t’have held it poor, but since my lord Is Antony again, I will be Cleopatra.

It is my birthday. I had meant to keep it modestly, but since my lord is Antony again, I will be Cleopatra.

We will yet do well.

We will still come through this well.

Call all his noble captains to my lord.

Summon all his noble captains to my lord.

Do so; we’ll speak to them; and tonight I’ll force The wine peep through their scars. Come on, my queen, There’s sap in’t yet. The next time I do fight I’ll make Death love me, for I will contend Even with his pestilent scythe.

Do that; we'll speak to them; and tonight I'll make the wine show through their scars. Come on, my queen, there's life in it yet. The next time I fight I'll make Death fall in love with me, for I will match myself even against his plague-bearing scythe.

Now he’ll outstare the lightning. To be furious Is to be frighted out of fear, and in that mood The dove will peck the estridge; and I see still A diminution in our captain’s brain Restores his heart. When valour preys on reason, It eats the sword it fights with. I will seek Some way to leave him.

Now he'll stare down the lightning. To be in a rage is to be so terrified that you lose all fear, and in that state a dove will peck at an ostrich; and I see, as always, that the less brain our captain has, the more heart he gets back. When courage feeds on good sense, it devours the sword it fights with. I will look for some way to leave him.